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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505204">Brad/Ray Oneshots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargarya/pseuds/stargarya'>stargarya</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Generation Kill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot Collection, Translation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:22:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargarya/pseuds/stargarya</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I never thought that I'd be lying here like this-”<br/>“In my bed and smoking?”<br/>“Yes, for sure, smoking in your bed. Just think about it! Brad Colbert let me smoke in his bed!”<br/>“This won’t be a regular occurence, so don’t even get your hopes up.”<br/>“Okay, but the main thing is that I can be in your bed all the time.”<br/>“That’s allowed. Enforced, actually.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brad Colbert/Ray Person</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Brad/Ray Oneshots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/784539">Однострочники и драбблы</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepSpindles/pseuds/SleepSpindles">SleepSpindles</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Brad? You sleeping?”</p><p>“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”</p><p>“How about I plunge you into a wet dream?”</p><p>“Well… go ahead.”</p><p>“Have you ever had wet dreams though?”</p><p>“Yes. Even now, sometimes.”</p><p>“About me?”</p><p>“About you, too. Most often about you. It used to really piss me off.”</p><p>“How come?”</p><p>“You weren't there, and the dreams were regular.”</p><p>“What was your favourite?”</p><p>“They were all equally… unpleasant. I remember a very vivid one. Like I'm waking up - funny, right? Waking up in a dream. I get up, go to the kitchen, and you're there, frying some eggs. You didn't notice me coming in. You're standing barefoot at the stove, in torn jeans hanging low at your hips. Humming something under your breath, not loudly as usual. And the sun is drawing lines on your back through the window blinds, making you look like a tiger - or more like a cub. I don't know what's sexual about this, probably nothing. You weren't jerking off or fingering yourself, weren't stripping, nothing of the typical porny scenarios. But for some reason I thought it was like a wet dream.”</p><p>“Did you want to bend me over? Like, on the table?”</p><p>“No, I just… wanted it to be real. You in my kitchen, making breakfast.”</p><p>“Did you jerk off when you woke up?”</p><p>“No, that night I went to the bar and got really fucking drunk. And then vomited all over my bathroom.”</p><p>“Dude, no fucking way that's a wet dream! You're supposed to jerk off after those!”</p><p>“So you've had those and then jerked off?”</p><p>“Well, usually I don't remember my dreams. I just wake up feeling like there was something, but I can't remember exactly what. Maybe not remembering is for the better.”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“So I don't have dreams, more like waking fantasies. I really wanted to call you once. I really almost threw my phone out the window, like I was going through withdrawal.”</p><p>“Then why didn't you?”</p><p>“Don't ask that, Brad! Like you don't know! I couldn't, because I convinced myself that you didn't need it.”</p><p>“So what did you do?”</p><p>“I just lay in the dark and stared at the ceiling. I got myself so wound up I imagined your voice in my ears, and your hands on me. You, touching me so calmly and confidently, as if you always did, as it was supposed to be like that. I remembered how you said my name with your velvet fucking roll on the R. Probably replayed it in my head like, a thousand times. I didn't even realise I started jerking off by then, though I still couldn't come. I was all squirming and moaning, fuck, dude, I was almost sobbing! I missed you that much in reality, outside of my head.”</p><p>“Well, did you come after?”</p><p>“I did. Didn't make it better. Got kinda worse, actually. We have some shitty wet dreams, Brad.”</p><p>“Yeah. Reality is way better.”</p><p>***</p><p>Ray’s signature dinner consists of endless moronic smiles from ear to ear and attempts to sing an improvised song with his mouth full: “Brad, Brad! Listen to this: <em>every day I wake is always just the same, I wake, and then I see your face-</em>”</p><p>“Ray, shut your mouth.”</p><p>“Afraid I’ll choke and die?”</p><p>“Afraid you’ll shit all over my kitchen with pieces of chow flying from your drooling mouth.”</p><p>“My drooling mouth that you’re crazy about.”</p><p>An appropriate dinner by Ray also includes: a couple of war anecdotes, a cursory comparative analysis of Western and Eastern cultures, ruminations about improving IFF effectiveness, dangling his feet below the table and grazing Brad’s ankles with a bit of supposedly innocent touch. Batting his eyelashes, endless eyebrow arching, active gesticulation that must involve knocking over the tea cup onto the floor. Multiple facepalms, eye-rolling and barely noticeable corner-of-mouth smiles from Brad. A broken plate when Ray tries to wash the dishes. And, finally, bending Ray - who’s just asking for it - over on the kitchen table with his bratty ass up followed by wild fucking. The cherry on top of this late night madness is the sugar from the bowl knocked over by Ray creaking on the floor. Afterwards, exactly on brand, Ray goes outside for a smoke, leaving Brad to clean up the mess. Brad stares at his back, completely lost for words.</p><p>***</p><p>“You'll see, it actually feels nice,” Brad assured him. He was holding out his huge hand palm up and trying to persuade Ray to give him his bare heel.</p><p>“No, Brad, you know how ticklish I am there!”</p><p>“Give me your foot.”</p><p>Ray bit his lower lip and looked at Brad incredulously.</p><p>“Ray,” he said softly, in a calm voice, as if taming a wild animal. “I won't tickle you. Just trust me.”</p><p>That was the magic word. Trusting Brad had been natural since the Corps. He sighed wearily and stretched out a leg into Brad's extended palms. Brad looked into his eyes and rubbed his heel in forceful motions.</p><p>“You know, there's a belief in Chinese medicine that the feet have points that are responsible for every organ and bone in the body.”</p><p>“Rudy tell you that? So what, if you fiddle with your fingers down there, it'll flip the right switch in my head?”</p><p>“Yes, for one. Though not even Chinese foot massage can help your fucked up brain.” Ray was still tense, one foot resting on Brad's thigh, ready to slip out and push him away at any moment. “Ray, relax. It's not ticklish, right?”</p><p>Ray considered his feelings. It wasn't ticklish, just warm from Brad's huge hot hands.</p><p>“Not yet, but one can expect anything from you.” Ray remembered how these same fingers poked him in the ribs, almost tickling him to death.</p><p>“They also say that people who are ticklish in their feet are the jealous type. Are you, Ray?” Brad winked and grabbed the other leg, rubbing at both feet now.</p><p>“Well, a little bit.”</p><p>“A little bit?”</p><p>“Fuck no, a fucking lot! I'm jealous of everyone. Your bike especially.”</p><p>“What, thinking how I'm fucking with it makes you jealous?”</p><p>“It <em>is</em> fucking! You should see yourself when you're washing or tinkering with it. Fucking in its purest form!”</p><p>“What else?”</p><p>“Well, when chicks hit on you, that makes me jealous. I mean, you're so-” Ray vaguely gestured in the air.</p><p>“I'm what?”</p><p>“Fucking amazing, perfect Brad Colbert, like you don't know.”</p><p>“I thought I was an annoying dick, a Hebrew motherfucker, a sadistic asshole-”</p><p>“That too, obviously, no idea who could possibly stand you.”</p><p>“Just you.”</p><p>Brad looked him in the eyes, stroked over his legs and traced around his ankle. Ray blinked. No, he definitely didn't feel ticklish now, he felt really fucking good. Then Brad lifted his foot and started licking at his toes, not breaking his gaze.</p><p>“Fuck, Brad,” Ray exhaled loudly, but made no attempt to move.</p><p>“Touch yourself for me.”</p><p>Ray slid down and pulled off his home pants. They didn't break eye contact. Ray ran a hand over his cock, panting; Brad licked at his feet. Ray didn't last long, and came almost instantly when Brad bit at his big toe.</p><p>“Well? Still ticklish?”</p><p>“Not anymore, I'm not,” Ray smiled.</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Ray was furiously cleaning his M4. He was really pissed at Brad, who had erupted on him completely out of nowhere (in his opinion). He really wanted to throw something or just take a victor and go straight into the desert. Still, of course, he understood that all of that was dumb; so he was just cleaning his rifle.</p><p>“Your motions are too jerky.”</p><p>Brad's big hand, rough and warm, came to rest on Ray's. He wanted to throw it off, move away, say something nasty. Then, despite himself, he suddenly felt calm. The irritation seemed to flow out through Brad's fingers, then onto the table with the disassembled rifle, went down the legs and disappeared in the sand. Brad unhurriedly lubricated the parts.</p><p>“You know you can be a massive asshole?”</p><p>Brad said nothing, breathed into the top of Ray's head and assembled the gun. Person sighed and tried to pull out of the half-embrace. The last thing they needed was getting spotted. Brad removed his hand and let him move away.</p><p>“Alright, I can be an asshole too.”</p><p>“Really?” Brad smiled with the corners of his mouth. “And here I thought you were a heaven-sent angelic fairy just for me.”</p><p>“Well, in a way, I am a fairy. The fact that this garbage still starts up and the radio's not dead is entirely my magic.”</p><p>Colbert smiled wider. “Then, fairy, conjure me up a well-done steak and fries.”</p><p>“That's not my area of magic. I can only magic up NVD batteries.”</p><p>“A new Humvee, then.”</p><p>“You want too much, Brad.”</p><p>“So you're a little beginner fairy?” Brad really wanted to run his hand through Ray's bristly hair, but stopped himself.</p><p>“No, I'm very much a grownup fairy. It's just that my abilities are directly dependent on what you're willing to pay for them.”</p><p>“What a self-serving fairy!”</p><p>“You do know that nothing is ever free in fairy tales? You've got to pay for everything.”</p><p>“And what would you charge me, little fairy Ray?”</p><p>“You'll be in my service for a hundred years.”</p><p>“Wow, you're just a fairy slave owner! What do you need me for a hundred years for, especially since I'm such an asshole?”</p><p>“I'll find something to keep you busy with, don't you worry, you're gonna be working on plantations collecting magic pollen-”</p><p>“Or waiting tables in your gay bar.” Brad finished assembling the rifle and shoved it into Ray's hands. “New Humvee first, then your pay, fairy. Fucking fairy with Bambi eyes.”</p><p>Brad chuckled and walked away towards Poke's vehicle. Ray watched him go, smiling. Even if his team leader sometimes could be an exceptional asshole, moron and dickhead, he was a great dude most of the time.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray thinks that he might just die now, choke on his own saliva. He can't see (the eye goggles are breath-foggy) or hear anything in this stinking gas mask. He's really fucking scared. He's never been so goddamn terrified, not even when they were being trained in deep sea diving. He starts hyperventilating, clenching his fists. Then Brad's huge heavy hand comes to rest on his shoulder. He holds it there, and Ray snaps out of it; his heart stops drumming against his ribs, his breathing evens out. Ray thinks this is that fucking Colbert magic or some sort of psychotraining Rudy taught him, since he's obsessed with this stuff. Definitely some kind of that bullshit, because Person can't explain why Brad's hand on his shoulder makes him feel so calm.</p><p>***</p><p>Brad thinks that Ray is too much of everything. He's too noisy, he sings too loudly, his songs of choice match Brad's mood too well, his monologues are straight up just one huge too much. The shittiest thing, however, is that he needs Ray too much. And it has nothing to do with him being his RTO and driver. Brad just needs to see him, always keep him in sight. He can always tell where Person is, who he's talking at, fucking around with or fiddling with antennas. Brad tries to tell himself it's because it's war and he always needs to know where his team is. And yet, he doesn't know that much about Trombley, nor Walt, and Rolling Stone even less so.</p><p>When Ray is close, it's too much again. Too comfortable, too homelike. As if their shared wheeled coffin becomes a home. And Brad wants it too much - to drive and drive with Ray somewhere, without stopping.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray is blasting some sort of rock (thank fuck, Brad’s ears are safe, it’s not country) and climbing up the shaky folding ladder to poke around in the ceiling wiring in the garage. Brad watches him sway and bounce and gets ready to сatch Ray when he’s absolutely sure he’s about to crash down to the floor. The ladder is shaking and creaking pitifully. Ray gets off to look around for a tool, howling along <em>“Don’t talk to me!”</em>. He delves into a drawer and twirls his pert ass to the beat of the music. Brad always likes watching him sing. He gives into the music completely and without reserve, just like he does with Brad, maybe even more so. <em>“Don’t talk to me, Don’t talk to me,”</em> Ray walks by in a little dance, holding the screwdriver like a microphone. On his next turn Brad abruptly catches him into the circle of his arms. Ray didn’t hear him approach; his eyes open wide in surprise.</p><p>“Are you changing the wiring or doing a striptease?”</p><p>“In your dreams, Brad. I haven’t even started taking my clothes off yet.”</p><p>“But you were going to?”</p><p>“No, you pervert.”</p><p>Brad holds his arms tightly, hugs Ray closer. He looks down at his wide-open brown eyes, yellowish in the sun. Ray smiles.</p><p>“Okay, go on. I’ll make sure you don’t fucking kill yourself falling from that ladder.”</p><p>“Can’t leave me alone for a single second, Bradley?”</p><p>“Don’t want you to decimate my whole garage.”</p><p>“Admit it to your old pal Ray,” he jokingly hits Brad’s shoulder. “You just like hanging out with me?”</p><p>“Not country, for once, I barely believe my ears.”</p><p>Brad sits down on the toolbox. Ray says nothing, turns up the music and climbs towards the ceiling again.</p><p>***</p><p>Brad likes to keep his hands on Ray’s head when he sucks him off. He doesn’t direct or control him; he knows Ray will do everything right anyway, the way Brad wants, the way he needs it in that exact moment. Ray always feels what he needs to do, when to go faster, when to slow down. So Brad just rests a palm on his nape, stroking with his fingertips, burrowing into his hair. He doesn’t push or pull Ray onto his dick. He holds his palms at the back of his head, radiating even heat from them. And Ray feels high and stupid good.</p><p>***</p><p>They’re sitting together on the ocean shore. Brad is leaning against the stones, Ray is lying in his lap and smoking. He tries to produce smoke rings, and as far as Brad can tell, he’s doing pretty well. He pouts his lips seductively, closes them and blows circles.</p><p>“Brad.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Do you think we’ll grow old together like this?”</p><p>“Do you have other plans?”</p><p>“No. You?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You’ll get old and fat-”</p><p>“I won’t get fat.”</p><p>“Your leg that you broke during SERE will get sore in bad weather.”</p><p>“You’ll put lotion on it.”</p><p>“You’ll become an even bigger buzzkill. You wouldn’t be able to get it up anymore-”</p><p>“Then I’ll fuck you with a vibrator.”</p><p>“Well, I wouldn’t get it up either.”</p><p>“Then we won’t fuck and tune bikes for our young dumbfuck neighbors instead.”</p><p>“And you won’t get bored?”</p><p>“Tuning bikes?”</p><p>“No, living with me.”</p><p>“If you spew a little less bullshit all the time, I won’t.”</p><p>“Come on, Brad, who are you kidding? You love it when I talk.”</p><p>Brad looks down at him, lets his sun-warm dark hair through his fingers.</p><p>“I don’t like it when you smoke. I don’t want you to drop dead before I do.”</p><p>“Ugh, Brad, don’t even go there! We’ve talked about this, I’m not gonna quit smoking. And I’m not dying before you, don’t get your hopes up. How about you, always racing your bike at two hundred miles per hour?”</p><p>“I have it under control.”</p><p>“Including the other people on the road? Wow, you’re a superhero, controlling everyone around you there!”</p><p>“I am a superhero.”</p><p>Brad gazes at the waves rushing ashore thoughtfully. Ray finishes his cigarette and snaps away the stub with his finger.</p><p>“Kiss me.”</p><p>“I don’t kiss ashtrays.”</p><p>“Right now!”</p><p>Brad looks at his face for a second, watching the sun reflect in his wide-open brown eyes. Ray raises his eyebrows, bats his eyelashes and makes that endearing face that is so hard to resist. Brad leans over and kisses him, slowly taking in the smell of cigarettes and peppermint gum.</p><p>“You’re a little manipulative sewer mouth.”</p><p>“And you’re an annoying asshole and a remarkably sadistic fuck.”</p><p>Brad laughs.</p><p>“You know, Ray, if I didn’t have you in my life, I’d have to make you up.”</p><p>“But I’m better than anything made up anyway, right?”</p><p>“You’re real, and you are better.”</p><p>Brad drops a kiss on his nose. Ray reaches up and licks at his lips.</p><p>***</p><p>“Ray, how about we have a lazy languid night?”</p><p>“You mean we’ll order pizza, beer and put on a movie or motor races?”</p><p>“No, I mean I’ll sit on the floor, you’ll kneel on the couch, and I’ll eat your ass.”</p><p>Ray stares.</p><p>“When you’re surprised, your eyes get even bigger, and you become so cute that I immediately want to bend you in half and fuck what remains of your brains out.”</p><p>“I don’t have any brains left, you’ve already fucked them all out last time. You know, Brad, when we first met, I would sometimes - well, actually often imagine what you’d be like in bed. And I thought you preferred the missionary position, didn’t like experimenting and thought sex was a stupid hassle.”</p><p>“So I did. Then something happened.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You, Ray, you happened. Now everything’s turned upside down and I want to fuck all the time. So, beer and pizza or ass eating?”</p><p>“You’re giving me a very difficult choice.”</p><p>“Toss a coin?”</p><p>“No, I don’t trust chance to decide it for me. I vote for beer and pizza, but you could convince me.” Ray winks.</p><p>***</p><p>Brad is washing his bike while Ray watches. Brad feels his gaze on the back of his head.</p><p>“One word that I should marry it or that I’m polishing it to orgasm and will have to wash it again, and you’re getting kicked in the ass and flying out of the garage, Ray.”</p><p>Ray laughs. “No, I wanted to say that you look cool with it.”</p><p>Brad turns and throws him the keys. “You can have a ride. But then you’ll wash it yourself, and you better not leave any stains.”</p><p>Ray stares at him in shock. “You’ll let me-”</p><p>“I’ve already let you fuck me in the ass, Ray, and you’re here talking about a bike.”</p><p>“Not just any bike! It’s your bike!!”</p><p>Brad walks past him, ruffling his hair. “Ray, you’re a moron. You think I’m worried about it? I’m just scared shitless that you’ll bash in your head somehow.”</p><p>“I don’t push a fuckton miles per hour like you do!”</p><p>“Yeah well, your bike can’t squeeze out as much speed as mine. You’ll get on mine and leave everything in the dust before you know it.”</p><p>“I won’t.” Ray looks up into his eyes solemnly. When he tries to kiss him, Brad dodges him and rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Quit it with this gay crap, Ray. It’s just a piece of metal. Quality metal, sure, but still.”</p><p>Ray walks up to the bike and sweeps the seat reverently. He puts on the helmet, smelling of Brad; the motor howls up, and he disappears out of the garage. Brad salutes him and thinks that Ray on his motorcycle is sex on legs (or rather on wheels).</p><p>***</p><p>“Brad, Brad!”</p><p>“What now, Ray? I was fast asleep until you started poking me in the stomach with your elbow!”</p><p>“You know what I just dreamed of?”</p><p>“Me fucking you on a motorbike at two hundred miles per hour?”</p><p>“Nah, not that! I dreamed that you were bending over the LT!”</p><p>“Why not Captain America? He deserves to get screwed in the ass by the entire platoon, not just me.”</p><p>“But that’s just lame compared to this! And instead of regular lube you used LSA!”</p><p>“And that’s what disturbed you most? That we desecrated the LSA by sticking it into Nate’s ass?</p><p>“But this is impossible, Brad!”</p><p>“Ray, it was a dream. A lot more can happen in those.” Brad tried to calm him down by throwing his arm and leg over him, but Ray kept tossing and turning and gesturing dramatically.</p><p>“Just think, LSA in the ass! It’s fucked!”</p><p>“Ray, why was I fucking the LT in your dream? What’s your subconscious trying to tell you?”</p><p>“Well, that part makes sense. I was always jealous when you were with him.”</p><p>“Ray, you’re an idiot,” Brad bit and licked over his sleep-warm ear. “How exactly was I fucking him?”</p><p>“Bent him over the hood of the Humvee, just smashed him onto it. Wasn’t really clear. I could see how you scooped some M19 grease out of the can and slipped your hand down there. He moaned so pitifully, maybe even cried a bit. And then I only saw your ass thrusting and heard him gasp. Probably hurt a fucking lot.”</p><p>“Maybe he was just ticklish. Abrasive lube would tickle your sphincter quite nicely. Hey, didn’t you care that it hurt me? My dick must’ve got shredded.”</p><p>“Well, you looked like you were enjoying it. Maybe you had a titanium dick in that dream, I don’t know. He was whimpering so plaintively, clawing with his hands. And I kept trying to shout: ‘Brad, the fuck are you doing, he’s hurting, stop!’ But, as it happens in such dreams, I couldn’t get out a single word. Then you came inside him with your full weight on him. You pulled out, and he just slid down to the ground. You zipped up your pants and went off into the sunset. I wanted to run to him, to help or whatever, but walked and walked without moving.”</p><p>“What an incredibly melancholy dream.”</p><p>Brad was already slumped over Ray, hands stroking down his sides.</p><p>“Did this turn you on or something? You fucking deviant!”</p><p>“The way you were talking about it turned me on, my little Ray-Ray, our humanist defender of violated lieutenants.”</p><p>Brad moved his finger between Ray’s buttcheeks, pressing and penetrating. He was still loose, with leftover lube from their heated fucking before sleep. Brad hauled Ray up onto his knees; Ray moaned and pushed his ass up. Brad entered him and began to fuck him in deep thrusts, pushing Ray’s head into the pillow.</p><p>“Was it like this?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, <em>oh fuck,</em> Brad,” Ray whined and bit into the pillow.</p><p>Brad picked up the pace. He jerked Ray’s cock hard, pulled him closer and bit on his ear. Ray’s moans grew louder, and he bounced back onto Brad’s dick inside him. They came quickly - Ray first, and then Brad, who almost slammed him into the headboard in his climax.</p><p>“Brad… I’m not telling you any more of my dreams!”</p><p>“Mmmm.”</p><p>“Brad, get off me and get your dick out!”</p><p>“Can’t we just sleep like this?”</p><p>“No! You’ll crush me.”</p><p>“Too bad. Sleeping on you while inside you would be perfect.”</p><p>“A deviant. A fucking homosexual perverted deviant.”</p><p>Brad rolled off Ray with obvious reluctance, then took a towel from the headboard and wiped him off.</p><p>“That’s it, sleep. No LT, no LSA, no dreams. Wake me up again, you little bastard, and you’ll be punished with something terrible and unnatural.”</p><p>“But gun grease!”</p><p>Brad pressed Ray closer and covered his mouth with his palm.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray is lying in bed, fucked out, arms dangling.</p><p>“Ray?”</p><p>“Hmmmhhrr-”</p><p>“Ray, I didn’t fuck you up, did I?”</p><p>“Why, my dude? What made you think so? Why d’you ask?”</p><p>“You’re not looking… in your best shape.”</p><p>“Of fucking course, you’ve fucked me all the way up there! I feel like I’ve lost all my bones and turned into jelly.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>Brad sits down on the bed and caresses his hair.</p><p>“Brad, don’t touch me.”</p><p>“Why? You like it.”</p><p>“I do. But I know where this goes. First you stroke my hair, then you kiss my head, then you slide your hands over my back. And it all ends in another go - or, in our case, whichever go it is, since I’ve lost count by now.”</p><p>“I’m that predictable?”</p><p>“No, you’re not predictable. Sometimes your round two comes on without any foreplay. And sometimes it comes in the garage, sometimes when I’m eating a sandwich with hot fucking coffee, which you almost spilled on me last time! And sometimes it begins when I’m just brushing my teeth or reading my textbooks, fiddling around in my bike, or just, you know, minding my own business, actually sleeping? You’re awesomely unpredictable, Brad, and you know why?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because it’s my own fault, of course!”</p><p>“Exactly, it is. I can’t get enough of you.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Take the wheel, Ray.”</p><p>“I don’t like driving with you, you know it. You always start gawking around and shit.”</p><p>“Ray.”</p><p>“Wait, did you get your license suspended again?”</p><p>Brad sits in the passenger seat in silence.</p><p>“Fuck, Brad! How many more times are you gonna lose it? Which time is it?”</p><p>“Seventh.”</p><p>“Not to mention all the money you’ve blown in speeding tickets!”</p><p>Brad fastens his seatbelt.</p><p>“Am I a personal driver to you? I drove your ass all around Iraq, am I gonna have to do it as a civ too?”</p><p>“Ray, shut up and watch the road.”</p><p>“I fucking won’t shut up!”</p><p>“Ray, you’re acting like a quarrelsome wife.”</p><p>“I don’t fucking care how I'm acting, because you’re acting like a dick!”</p><p>“Okay, Ray, I admit I was wrong, and I shouldn't be speeding.”</p><p>“You should join Adrenaline Rush Anonymous. Hi everyone, I’m Brad Colbert and I can only get it up when I’m going at two hundred miles per hour.”</p><p>“I can get it up easiest when Ray Person starts yelling at me in my car, spit flying, and I think how I could shut him up with my dick.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Brad! It’s not fucking funny when you do that.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>Ray trails off, grimly looking at the road. A few minutes later Brad goes:</p><p>“Ray, Ray… Don’t be mad. Yes, I’m acting like an asshole and I admit it. Every time I try to hold back but get carried away. Maybe you’re right and I really should join Adrenaline Rush Anonymous.”</p><p>“I’m glad you understand, at least.”</p><p>“I understand, I’m trying to do better.”</p><p>“It’s the seventh time, Brad!”</p><p>“Not even a jubilee yet.”</p><p>“Do you expect to reach ten?”</p><p>“No, I wouldn’t want that. I could ride a water bike.”</p><p>“And get your license revoked by water cops.”</p><p>“Actually, I’m thinking about having sex with you in public. For the adrenaline rush.”</p><p>“Excellent idea, Brad, we could get fined for that too.”</p><p>“It’s better than speeding, though.” Brad reaches out and tucks a stray curl behind Ray’s ear. Ray jerks his head back. “Ray.”</p><p>“Say one word about how I’m so fucking cute when I’m angry and you’re getting kicked out of the car.”</p><p>Brad smiles, watching the side of Ray’s face turned to him.</p><p>“I warned you.”</p><p>Brad starts singing:</p><p>
  <em>“I'm so in love with you<br/>
I'll be forever blue<br/>
That you gimme no reason<br/>
Why you make-a-me work so hard<br/>
That you gimme no<br/>
Soul, I hear you calling<br/>
Oh baby please give a little respect to me.”</em>
</p><p>Ray, who can’t help himself, smiles and sings along:</p><p>
  <em>“We can make love not war, and live in peace with our hearts</em><br/>
<em>I'm so in love with you, I'll be forever blue</em><br/>
<em>Oh baby please give a little respect to me.”</em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  
</p><p>“What the fuck was that, Person?”</p><p>“Well… I wanted to impress you.”</p><p>“I am impressed by your idiocy. You exposed yourself and ran in open space with no cover. Had this happened in a real combat situation, you would’ve been shot,” Brad chastises him for a long time, going over his every mistake.</p><p>“I understand, Sergeant, it was the wrong way to go.”</p><p>“You won’t let yourself get shot,” Brad enunciates every word. “Because I need my RTO.” He puts emphasis on the last words.</p><p>Ray really fucking likes the sound of that.</p><p>***</p><p>Brad has a huge bed that can easily fit Ray multiplied by five, lying across it. Still, for some reason, they always end up sleeping right near the edge.</p><p>During the night, Ray tries to move away from Brad, who’s hot and heavy, but who still follows him. That’s how it turns out that while the bed is enormous, they sleep on its edge, and Ray falls off it all the time.</p><p>“Brad, please, go back to your south pole! I’m so fucking done, you’re too hot,” Ray complains, then crawls out of Brad’s huge arms and lies down on the other side of the bed. Brad still chases him down. “Brad, you’re the Iceman! Why are you so hot?”</p><p>“You’ve melted my icy heart, my little Ray-Ray.”</p><p>“Brad, would you move away! I can’t breathe.”</p><p>“Be thankful I didn’t put the bed against the wall, otherwise you’d be lying squashed into it.”</p><p>Ray is frowny and sleepy in the morning. Brad asks, buttering a toast:</p><p>“What’s with the face?”</p><p>“You’re sleeping on the floor tomorrow.” Ray takes the toast and goes to bed.</p><p>The next night Ray tries to escape into the living room. Brad catches up, throws him over his shoulder and carries him back into bed, tugging him closer. Ray gives up.</p><p>However, when it’s cold, Ray reaches for Brad himself, moves closer and throws his limbs over him.</p><p>Brad loves the cold.</p><p>***</p><p>Brad is always surprised how he often tells Ray things about himself. Memories from his childhood, old grievances, thoughts, experiences. He never kept diaries and never had a need to share his deepest secrets. Brad doesn’t understand how it came to this and blames everything on the mesmerizing gaze of Ray’s huge eyes.</p><p>"I ate chalk as a kid."</p><p>"The first time I masturbated was after watching a football match."</p><p>"I had a crush on a boy next door. I liked his eyes, almost the same as yours. No, actually, yours are better."</p><p>Ray listens, smiles, squints from the cigarette smoke, teases him. They drink beer on the roof of Brad’s house and watch the sunset. Afterwards they lie, their heads touching, and make wishes upon shooting stars. They don’t say what they wish for, but they know - their wishes always match.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray believes in prophetic dreams, mysticism, fateful coincidences and past lives (although, of course, he won’t admit it to anyone). He just doesn’t think that any of that stuff would happen to him. He doesn’t, until the smoking cigarette burns his fingers and he meets the gaze of grey eyes, watching him closely.</p><p>***</p><p>When Brad comes out of the shower with wet hair sticking out in all directions and wearing a towel around his hips, Ray is somewhere in the middle of Camus's “The Rebel”. No, he’s not looking at all this sculptured muscle and six-pack. He’s completely indifferent and immersed in his reading.</p><p>Brad stands in front of him. The towel knot is right in Ray’s face.</p><p>“I bet you’re reading the same paragraph for the fifth time and still can’t understand what it means.”</p><p>“Third. Just the third time.”</p><p>Ray looks up. For a few seconds, they silently wage war with Ray's ‘ask me’ against Brad's ‘you’re definitely losing this round’. Brad licks his lips, slowly and seductively bats his eyelashes, keeps his eyes on Ray's lips.</p><p>Ray’s gaze slides down his wet chest. He inhales the smell of pinewood shower gel. He keeps the book in hand.</p><p>“Ray. Please.”</p><p>Ray gives him a triumphant smile and reaches for the towel.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray is singing, and every line is like a sniper shot. It hits its exact target: Brad’s emotions, fears, deeply hidden desires. Like a surgical scalpel, it cuts him up and pulls everything out. Brad wants to yell: ‘Shut up, shut up, <em>shut up.</em>’ Don’t touch it, don’t pull, don’t pick at it, I don’t want to know about it, never have children, pets or relationships, no attachments, stay alert. Brad doesn’t know this song, he’s never heard it before and it seems like Ray is improvising it on the spot, clearly on purpose. It’s as if he can read his thoughts, see right through him - and Brad can't take cover anywhere. A perfectly clear survey area allowing for accurate target hits.</p><p>“Fuck, Ray, will you shut the fuck up!”</p><p>Ray trails off like he got shot, right mid-lyric.</p><p>He doesn’t utter a word for the rest of the day.</p><p>***</p><p>Silent Ray is worse than a closed book.</p><p>Silent Ray is even worse than Ray who doesn’t shut up for a single moment even to take a breath. Silent Ray is like the cold waves of the ocean, closing overhead and pulling you down to the very bottom. Silent Ray is like air before a thunderstorm, so thin you can’t breathe. Silent, not singing, not smiling, only speaking on the subject - this Ray is a real nightmare. It’s so wrong that Brad wants to grab him by his thin shoulders and shake him: ‘Talk, talk, you motherfucker.’</p><p>He tries to push out the words stuck in his throat: ‘Ray, I'm sorry, I was wrong,’ but he can’t. Can't say them. So Brad sings.</p><p>By the second chorus Ray quietly sings along. Despite everything. They sing together.</p><p>***</p><p>When Brad has bouts of tenderness it feels like a waterfall or a tornado. The important thing is not to choke or suffocate. That’s difficult, especially when Brad squeezes Ray, presses him against the wall or any other horizontal surface. Or when he throws him over his shoulder, when he tickles him, kisses him, licks his neck, sucks on his fingers. Or when he softly sings Air Supply ballads into his ear. Or thoroughly fucks him for so long that later Ray lies like a jellyfish melting in the sun, unable to move a single limb.</p><p>He just has to try not to suffocate in these waves of tenderness, which can come crashing down on his poor happy black-haired head at any moment.</p><p>One can never guess. Right now, Brad is staring at him kind of too suspiciously. He should probably get ready for another assault.</p><p>***</p><p>“Ray, did you eat?”</p><p>“Yes, I ate, slept, took a piss and a dump, jerked off, sucked your dick, lotioned up my ass for rectal fissures, washed my head, shaved my balls and ass, ironed my shirt, my cap and shoe laces, cleaned the kitchen floor, cleaned your bike - yeah, I committed this sacrilege, took a piss again, then ate again (here’s the protein-fat-carbs list for you), and, and- Brad, fuck, you’re such a fucking control freak!”</p><p>“Yeah, that I am.”</p><p>“Brad, you really have some job conditioning thing going on here.”</p><p>“No, you just behave like someone who needs to be looked after or you’ll burn down the house, forget to eat, flunk your exams, forget to turn off the tap in the bathroom or the gas in the kitchen, take out the laundry-”</p><p>“You need a reminder how old I am? How do you think I managed to live to twenty-five without your valuable guidance?”</p><p>“You’ve been living under my leadership since you were nineteen. How you managed to live to nineteen, however, is a mystery to me.”</p><p>Ray can only roll his eyes in indignation. He’ll never admit that Brad being so caring really does it for him.</p><p>***</p><p>Ray is rolling around on the bed, smoking a joint. The tension of the last few days won’t go away. He feels exhausted and wound up like a spring. “Fuck it,” he puts out the burned-out joint roll and dials the number he remembers by heart.</p><p>His heartbeats count down the beeps, and he crosses his fingers. Not the voicemail, please not the voicemail-</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Ray freezes for a second, closing his eyes and taking in the sexiest voice in the Marine Corps and the whole world.</p><p>“Ray, what the hell? Did something happen?” He sounds worried, and Ray squints in satisfaction.</p><p>“Hi there, Bradley. You know, I want-” Ray pauses, then takes out and lights a cigarette, exhaling the smoke with pleasure and imagining how Brad’s eyebrow arches questioningly in this very moment. “- to see you. Can I crash at yours this weekend?”</p><p>“Did Josh Ray Person remember how to be polite and now he needs a special invitation? I can’t believe I lived to see the day.”</p><p>“I missed you too, Bradley.” Ray smiles; he likes to walk on the edge, to tease, taunt and imply. At the end of the day, he has nothing but this stupid game. And he won’t ever have anything more.</p><p>“Come here.” Brad says and goes silent. Ray is in no hurry to reply or hang up, either. For a couple of minutes they - like two absolute dumbfucks - just breathe silently into the phone.</p><p>“Ray?” Brad begins cautiously. Ray takes a deep drag, watching the light on the tip of the cig. “I hope you're not smoking in bed? Do you realise how many people get burned to death by cigarettes left in bed?”</p><p>“If I burn to death, will you mourn me, Brad? Can you imagine me getting an Arlington funeral with all the honours, even if I get drunkenly charred in my dirty bed. And you’d visit me sometimes, stand at my grave and think that only a moron like me could die in his bed after surviving Iraq and Afghanistan.”</p><p>“Ray, I don’t want you to get roasted in your own bed. It’s too dumb even for a whiskey tango hick like you. I want you to come here on the weekend and have a drink with me.”</p><p>“Succinct as always, Iceman. You could break your pattern for once and talk to me for a whole hour without shutting up.” Ray lights a new cigarette with the flickering flame in the old one. “And I want to come up there, get drunk and suck your dick. How about that, huh, Brad?”</p><p>“Ray, are you completely hammered? Or stoned? Or both?”</p><p><em>“Fuck,</em> no!” He gets overwhelmed by frustration and anger at himself. “Fuck off, Brad!”</p><p>Ray forcefully hangs up and throws the cellphone under the bed. A couple of moments later, he hears a quiet sound of an incoming text. He doesn’t want to read it, he just wants to close his eyes and fall asleep with the ignited cigarette in his hand, just to see if he’ll go up in flames. Instead he begins to wonder what Brad could possibly reply with, then finally breaks and reaches for the phone.</p><p>
  <em>‘You’re gonna haul your skinny (unroasted) ass here to my place this weekend.’ </em>
</p><p>Ray smiles and reasons that the Iceman mentioning his ass in a text is a good sign in any case.</p><p>He puts out the cigarette and goes to cook dinner. Self-immolation in bed is postponed for now.</p><p>***</p><p>“And who was constantly offering to suck me off all the way through Iraq, then asking for a handjob, or a fuck?”</p><p>“And who was staring at me like he wanted to devour me?”</p><p>“I wasn’t staring.”</p><p>“You do stare, Brad! You don’t even realise what sort of looks you’re directing at me, like any minute now you’re gonna lay me out on any available surface, including the steering wheel!”</p><p>“Fucking on the steering wheel is uncomfortable.”</p><p>“So you admit that you’re constantly analysing our surroundings for something you can spread me out on?”</p><p>“Because you act like this! Eat like a pig, sing your country songs about hot studs, scratch your bare skinny stomach with your shirt pulled up to your ears! You’re always provoking me.”</p><p>“I’m provoking you? Reminds me of excuses from rapists: she put on a short skirt, so she was asking for it.”</p><p>“Exactly, Ray. You’re just asking for it.”</p><p>“No fucking way! When I’m asking for it I’m asking for it, and when I’m scratching my stomach it means it was itching!”</p><p>“Okay, Ray, we’re ending this conversation.”</p><p>“So you’re accepting defeat in this debate round, Brad? Admit it, you’re crazy about your Ray-Ray and his tight ass, you can’t even go a minute without-”</p><p>“Fuck, Ray!”</p><p>When Brad finally pulls away from him, Ray looks like he just won the first place in NASCAR.</p><p>“Yes, Ray, I’m accepting defeat in this round. I’m crazy about you, you make me go batshit insane and I turn into a horny March bunny that wants to fuck all the time. Satisfied?”</p><p>Brad says this in a quiet, deep voice right into his ear, moving his hair with just his breath, and Ray feels tingly in every part of his body.</p><p>“Two-one, with two points to you, Brad. Because now my dick is hard and I go crazy with you around, too.”</p><p>***</p><p>They were sitting in Ray's kitchen. Brad came to Kansas City to say goodbye before he left for his next tour.</p><p>Ray smoked one cigarette after another, feeling dreary and anxious. He hadn’t slept well for several days, suffering from nightmares in which Brad was killed over and over.</p><p>“Ray, that’s enough nicotine for today.” Brad moved the pack away from him.</p><p>“Who’s your RTO?” Ray twisted the lighter around in his fingers.</p><p>“Dirty. I hope he doesn’t start singing country and talking non-stop.”</p><p>“But he’s not as good as I am.”</p><p>“No, he’s not.”</p><p>Ray looked up at him. He looked pathetic, and Brad desperately wanted to hug him and reassure him somehow, but he knew that then it would be even more difficult to leave.</p><p>“Gonna get drunk?”</p><p>“Come on, Iceman, I'm not a weepy girl that keeps crying and clinging to her Marine. I’ll survive your absence. The question is, will you survive mine, Bradley.” Ray winked, but it didn’t look cheerful at all.</p><p>“When Dirty fries my radio, I’ll demand that you’re sent in by FedEx.”</p><p>“Fuck yeah, and they’ll blow me like that turret shield. Brad-” Ray looked him in the eyes, and his clearly read: ‘Don’t get yourself shot, you son of a bitch! Come back in one piece.’</p><p>“I have to go, Ray.” Brad pocketed the unfinished cigarette pack and stared back, as if reassuring: ‘It’ll be fine, Ray, don’t worry about it.'</p><p>“And I’m not gonna get drunk!”</p><p>“You remember Gunny’s number.”</p><p>Brad grinned and left, closing the door behind him.</p><p>***</p><p>“Brad, are you a descendant of elves or goblins?” Ray is trying to bite him on his pointy ear; Brad dodges him.</p><p>“Piss off, Ray.”</p><p>“Probably elves, since they’re all so fucking noble and don’t like sex.”</p><p>“I like sex.”</p><p>“Come on, Bradley, you’d never even put your fingers in your ass before I came around!”</p><p>“So me not sticking my fingers in my ass somehow means I don’t like sex?”</p><p>“Well, you don’t like experimenting at the very least.”</p><p>“I like experimenting, with you. Now piss off.”</p><p>“Just let me bite your ear first.”</p><p>“Ray, I’m fucking sick of this.” Brad takes a break from digging around in his bike and turns with his ear up. With a growl Ray starts nibbling and drooling on it; it tickles.</p><p>“Done?”</p><p>“No, now the other one.”</p><p>“You only mentioned one ear.”</p><p>“I want the other one too.”</p><p>“Ray,” Brad knocks him down to the floor. “You’re a terrible,” he pokes him in the ribs. “Little,” Ray cackles. “Manipulative fucker.” Brad attacks him with a bite on his neck.</p><p>“Ear!”</p><p>Brad rolls his eyes and turns his head. Ray bites at his ear with contented purrs.</p><p>***</p><p>Rudy and Pappy are lying on the grass next to Brad and Ray, who are engaged in something like sparring; although it’s more resembling of a puppy jumping at a grown dog. Nevertheless, both are clearly getting off on it.</p><p>“Rudy,” Pappy sips his coffee lazily, looking towards their team leader and RTO. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”</p><p>Rudy watches thoughtfully as Brad grabs Ray by the neck and tries to pull at his ears.</p><p>“Yeah, Paps.”</p><p>“Should we cover their asses? They’re gonna get busted like this.”</p><p>“Yesterday I saw Brad corner him against the Humvee.”</p><p>“Idiots. Do they think they’re on a honeymoon?”</p><p>“Looks like it, Paps.” Rudy smiles and pours more coffee into his mug.</p><p>***</p><p>“Brad, if somebody in your team dies,” Nate is as serious as ever. “I will personally send a bullet into your forehead.”</p><p>Brad briefly glances over at Ray digging around in the radio.</p><p>“No need, sir, I’ll do it myself.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Brad, what would you say is your biggest kink regarding me?”</p><p>“Kink?”</p><p>“Well, something that does it for you, turns you on-”</p><p>“Ray.”</p><p>“Ray what? Ray, shut up? Ray, stop irritating me with stupid-ass questions? Can you answer normally at least once?”</p><p>“My kink is just Ray, you as a whole.” Ray is shocked. “What’s yours?”</p><p>“Mine?”</p><p>“Well, your kink.”</p><p>“You, Brad, it’s you.”</p><p>“These are some repetitive answers. I thought your kink would be to dress me up like a chick.”</p><p>“Oh, that’s right!”</p><p>“I regret reminding you already.”</p><p>***</p><p>“Tits...<em> ohhhhhhhh</em>, oh, your tits…” Ray is jerking off. “Wish I could just touch... fuck, what fucking awesome tits-”</p><p>“What size?” Brad speaks up from the dark, unfazed.</p><p>“Who the fuck knows what size you’ve got! С, probably.”</p><p>Then Ray realises he’s busted.</p><p>***</p><p>“No sex today, Brad, because you’ve literally fucked me to death already! No. I said no, and you can’t look at me with this hot undressing stare of a sex god. No means no. I can be stubborn too. And you batting your fluffy eyelashes has no effect on me. And now you’re licking your lips, too, it’s futile, Bradley, and so are your smiles. Now this is cheating! You took your shirt off!”</p><p>Ray still breaks. Because he can never resist Brad Colbert's tits.</p><p>***</p><p>“I never thought that I'd be lying here like this-”</p><p>“In my bed and smoking?”</p><p>“Yes, for sure, smoking in your bed. Just think about it! Brad Colbert let me smoke in his bed!”</p><p>“This won’t be a regular occurence, so don’t even get your hopes up.”</p><p>“Okay, but the main thing is that I can be in your bed all the time.”</p><p>“That’s allowed. Enforced, actually.”</p><p>***</p><p>Brad watches Ray light a cigarette, take a drag with his lips and exhale the smoke through his nose. Ray notices him looking.</p><p>“Yes, I have an oral fixation. You know why I smoke so much? I miss your dick in my mouth.”</p><p>“Oral fixation! Managed to take in some of my book on your way to take a piss?”</p><p>“Guess what, Brad, even a whiskey tango degenerate like me knows what oral fixation is. I’m full of surprises, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>Brad looks into his eyes, and they both know he’s being completely serious. Ray is a man who never ceases to surprise him.</p>
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